


Vox

by Bryonia_Alba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual bondage, M/M, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryonia_Alba/pseuds/Bryonia_Alba
Summary: When Snape loses his voice and Percy loses his job, Harry turns to the one person who can help them both.





	Vox

**Author's Note:**

> Written for merry_smutmas, 2006.

“You’re being difficult,” Harry said with all the long-suffering patience of someone accustomed to irascibility. “It takes two weeks to brew the potion you need right now for your throat. It won’t take me more than a few minutes to stop by Diagon Alley, pick up something from the apothecary, and come back.”

Severus glared at him from the recesses of the armchair in which he was ensconced, pulled as close to the fireplace as possible without catching flame. Tugging his dressing gown around his narrow frame with one hand, he adjusted the heavy woollen muffler wrapped around his throat with the other.

“Oh, very well,” he said with ill grace, voice hoarse from the sore throat afflicting him for the past three days. “Have the decency to bring me more tea before you go.”

Harry struggled to hide his amusement at his partner’s querulous tone. “I’ll do even better. I’ll brew a fresh pot.”

Severus settled deeper into his armchair, still muttering raspily about quack cures. Harry shook his head and went to brew the tea, adding a dollop of the good brandy to the first cup in addition to the honey and lemon Severus preferred. He didn’t expect any thanks, nor did he receive any, but Snape’s eyes softened once he’d taken the first sip from the cup Harry handed him.

Setting the teapot on a small table beside Severus, Harry donned his cloak, scarf and gloves. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised, and Disapparated.

Diagon Alley was nearly deserted at this hour, and the bitterly cold air made certain the few people about didn’t linger. Harry blew into his gloved hands in an attempt to warm them and hurried down the cobbled street, his head down against the wind as he made his way toward the apothecary.

A bell tinkled overhead as Harry walked inside, the warmth of the shop more than making up for the strange and exotic odours assailing his nose from the barrels and bottles and bins located throughout the shop. Myriad items dangled from the rafters, most of which Harry didn’t want to examine too closely. The shelves were lined with bottles and phials made of different colours of glass, small ceramic jars, and metal tins.

The shopkeeper was a middle-aged man with thin grey hair worn combed over in a poor attempt to cover his bald spot. “We’re closin’ in five minutes,” he announced, climbing down from his stepladder and moving behind the counter.

“I need something for a sore throat,” Harry said, loosening his scarf. “Not a potion ingredient, something ready-made.”

“I get that a lot this time of year,” the shopkeeper chuckled. Reaching up, he plucked a purple bottle from a shelf. “Cold and flu season sneaks up, and next thing you know you’re ailin’ and it’s only then you find out you’re out of last year’s potion remedy you brewed. You’ll be wantin’ Bonheur’s Soothing Syrup, then. The missus swears by it, won’t take anythin’ else when she’s feelin’ poorly.”

“It sounds perfect,” Harry said, fishing his purse from his pocket. “How much?”

Six Sickles and eleven Knuts later, Harry left the shop and quickly Apparated back to the house he shared with Severus. He was still where Harry had left him, hunkered down in the chair before the fire, teacup in hand.

“That didn’t take long,” Severus said without turning around. “What did you do, grab the first bottle you saw?”

Harry didn’t bother to reply, as he had basically done just what Severus had accused him of doing. “The directions say to take one teaspoon every four to six hours,” he said instead. “I’ll just get a teaspoon from the kitchen and we’ll get you dosed before bed.”

“No need to sound so damned cheerful,” Severus muttered. “I suppose you’ll measure it for me as well? I have a sore throat; I’m not incapacitated.”

“I never said you were.” Harry came back from the kitchen, handed him the bottle and teaspoon, and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I only mentioned bed because I’d hoped I could help warm the sheets for you, seeing that you’re not incapacitated or an invalid or anything like that.” Severus harrumphed, but Harry could have sworn he saw the barest hint of a smile as he turned away.

~*~*~

Percy yawned, taking off his spectacles and rubbing at his tired eyes. Fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, he carefully wiped the lenses clean before putting them back on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose out of habit. The cleaning did no good; the text of the trade document sitting on the desk continued to blur.

A glance at the clock told him it was just past midnight. The trade document could wait until tomorrow, Percy decided. _Well, later today_. It was difficult to tell which day was today and which was tomorrow anymore.

There was already a small pile of other documents sitting atop the desk that he’d gone through earlier in the day, all with his recommendations and suggestions neatly noted at the bottom of each. Percy collected them into a neat stack, donned his cloak and gloves, and left the tiny office he shared with two other assistants, locking the door behind him. He set down the stack of documents on the desk of Scrimgeour’s personal secretary along with a note asking she make certain the Minister received them first thing in the morning. 

The lift was empty when he first entered, but it slowly filled as it trundled its way to the Atrium. Zacharias Smith ignored Percy completely as the lift stopped at Level Two, cutting off whatever he’d been saying to Neville Longbottom and glaring as though it was Percy’s fault for being present at what was obviously meant to be a private conversation. Neville gave Percy a shy, apologetic smile before turning to whisper into Auror Smith’s ear.

Percy was a little surprised to see Neville, though unsurprised at his suddenly thundering heartbeat and a nearly overwhelming urge to run his hand over his hair to make sure it looked all right. It was an effect of which Neville seemed completely oblivious, even though Percy had fancied him for going on six months.

He supposed the reason Neville was here now was because he was assisting Auror Smith in some manner on a case, since Level Two was where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was located, and Neville was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, one level below the Atrium. The fact that his appearance was unexpected only made Percy feel even more like a blushing schoolboy. It was probably just as well that Neville didn’t notice; Percy doubted very much that Ron had mentioned anything positive about him, if he’d ever mentioned Percy at all.

Dour and unfriendly as Auror Smith was, he was still an improvement over the constant chatter once Kenneth Towler, who worked for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, stepped into the lift car. Percy was grateful for the distraction nonetheless, despite Towler’s annoying manner. 

“Nice to see I’m not the only one working late tonight,” he said cheerfully, turning toward Zacharias. “What’s your excuse?”

“Classified,” Smith answered curtly.

“Of course, of course. That’s what you Aurors always say,” Kenneth chuckled before glancing at Neville. “And I know better than to ask what an Unspeakable’s been up to. If you told me you’d have to Obliviate me, right?”

Neville reddened, but before he could reply Towler had already moved to Percy. “Scrimgeour works his staff too hard, don’t you think? This is, what, your fourth late night this week?”

“There’s always an upswing in trade at the end of the year,” Percy said stiffly, “as you well know, seeing as your department is the one sending everything for me to look over before sending it on to the Minister for final approval.”

Kenneth continued nattering on to no one in particular, though Longbottom brightened a bit when Ecuadoran plants were mentioned. It seemed as though the lift would never reach the Atrium.

“Dammit, I forgot a file,” Kenneth said, one level shy of the Atrium and freedom. “I’ll just get out here and catch the upgoing lift. Ta!”

The moment Towler was gone, Percy muttered, “And I thought working with Bagman was a trial, the year we brought back the Tri-Wizard tournament. I vow, the man never shuts up.”

Neville bit his lip, probably to avoid saying something unkind; and even Zacharias cracked a dour smile as the lift finally shuddered to a halt and the three men entered the Atrium. Percy pulled on his gloves, nodding politely to his fellow passengers. “Good evening.”

Zacharias didn’t reply, but Neville gave another shy smile. “You too,” he answered, and hurried to the nearest gilded fireplace. Percy watched him go while pretending to smooth a wrinkle from one of his gloves. Perhaps if he joined Neville at lunch one day…He shook his head. Neville smiling at him didn’t mean anything. He shouldn’t read too much into what was probably nothing.

Percy Flooed home from the adjacent fireplace, so tired he didn’t even bother brushing off the soot from his robes as he stepped into his flat. Instead, he went straight into his bedroom, stripped down, and collapsed onto the bed.

~*~*~

Harry stirred sleepily within Severus’ arms, stretching out a hand and fumbling for his glasses before opening his eyes. It was early yet, but Harry had always been an early riser. Carefully, he slipped from Severus’ embrace and slid out of bed without waking the other man. He wasn’t feeling well and needed his rest.

He’d taken a quick shower and was busily preparing breakfast before Severus shuffled into the kitchen and silently prepared a cup of tea. Harry dished scrambled eggs, bacon and toast onto a plate and brought it to him.

“How’s your throat this morning?” he asked while filling his own plate.

“ _Better_ ,” Severus replied…or tried to. Clearing his throat, he tried again to respond, with no better results.

“You certainly don’t sound better,” Harry said, brow furrowing. “Did you take another dose this morning?”

Snape glowered, lifting one hand and making writing motions in the air. Harry swallowed his eggs and left the table in search of quill and parchment. 

_The pain from my sore throat is gone_ , Severus wrote. _It has merely been replaced by laryngitis. I know I haven’t yet run out of my potion for that particular malady. Do be so kind as to bring it to me._

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

Snape sighed and took up the quill again. _Yes, Harry, I took another dose this morning. Now fetch me the damned laryngitis potion!_

Harry fetched the requested potion.

By that evening, however, it was clear that the potion wasn’t working. Severus could make only the breathiest of sounds, none of which could be considered as loud as a whisper. For all intents and purposes, Snape had been struck mute.

“I’m taking you to St Mungo’s after supper,” Harry declared, meeting Severus glare for glare. “Your potion isn’t working. Your potions _always_ work, at least until now. That alone should tell you something! You might have something really serious, and the fact that you can’t talk could just be one symptom of whatever it is you have. Maybe it’s catching. We won’t know for certain until you’ve seen a Healer.”

_I’m fine_ , Severus scrawled, underlining the two words with twin slashes of his quill. _I seem to have merely contracted a rather stubborn case._

“All the more reason to see a Healer. If anything, they can write a scrip for something stronger,” Harry retorted once he read Snape’s reply. Softening his tone, he added, “It’ll put my mind at ease, if nothing else. Please, Severus.”

Snape scowled. _Very well. We will go after we’ve eaten. I assure you it will be a wasted journey._

Harry relaxed and forked up a bite of chicken. “You can blame me all you like once you get your voice back.”

The reception area at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was exceptionally crowded when Harry and Severus arrived. Harry pushed his way to the desk to let the welcome witch know they had need of a Healer’s services while Severus took one of the few remaining seats. Harry joined him a few minutes later, looking disgruntled.

“Hours, she said,” Harry groused. “At least two hours! It seems you’re not the only one suffering from a bad throat, and…”

Severus touched Harry’s arm lightly, interrupting his tirade. _I know_ , he mouthed. _Look around you._

Harry looked around at the other waiting patients. Several people carried sheets of parchment and quills as Severus did, scribbling messages to whoever had accompanied them in strange conversations where only one person spoke. One young witch held a toddler who was screaming at the top of his lungs without making a sound, and nearby another mother tried to comfort a young boy who sobbed silently.

“I guess it _is_ catching,” Harry murmured, hand going unconsciously to his throat. “Is it some new Wizarding disease?”

_We’ll find out soon enough._ Severus looked resigned as he handed the parchment to Harry. _I must admit it doesn’t look promising._

One and a half hours later, Severus and Harry were finally sent to the hospital’s second floor, where they waited in one of the examination rooms for another forty-five minutes before a harried-looking Healer arrived. The man looked at the chart in his hand, and if anything looked even more stressed.

“I remember you from Hogwarts,” the Healer said, pulling his wand from one pocket. “I thought that if there was a potion you couldn’t make, it didn’t exist. Oh well, nothing for it now. Open up and say ah, Professor.”

Severus obeyed, though his _ahhhh_ was only an exhalation of breath. Harry watched while the Healer ran his wand over Snape’s throat and chest, muttering various diagnostic spells under his breath.

“Has he taken any common potions lately?” the Healer asked, looking at Harry. “Something purchased, rather than homemade?”

Harry blinked at the question, avoiding the suddenly thunderous expression in Snape’s eyes. “I, um, yes. We were out of the potion we usually use for sore throats, so I went and bought a bottle from the apothecary in Diagon Alley.”

“Let me guess. You bought Bonheur’s Soothing Syrup.” The Healer looked and sounded unsurprised when Harry nodded. “You and every other person I’ve seen today who has suddenly lost their ability to speak or make any sound. They all have that particular remedy in common.”

“Then you know how to cure it,” Harry said hopefully. “You said you know the cause.”

Making a note on his chart, the Healer looked up. “I’m afraid that until we know what in the potion is causing everyone to lose their voice we can’t do anything. We have people looking into that now, but we haven’t heard back from them. It could be that this will wear off in a matter of days and weeks, or it could be permanent. Right now we simply don’t know.” More briskly, he said, “On a more positive note, it’s not life-threatening, just damned inconvenient. Is this your current address? I advise that you return home and go about your business as normally as possible. Once we figure out what’s causing the voice loss we’ll owl you.”

Harry was quiet as they stood in one of the queues waiting for a fireplace so they could Floo home. “I’m sorry, Severus,” he said finally. “This is all my fault.”

Snape snorted through his nose and pulled out his quill. _Are you implying that you are also responsible for everyone else who can no longer speak? Don’t be absurd. Your only crime was in purchasing the wrong remedy, even though you couldn’t possibly have known it would have this effect._

“I know that,” Harry answered, handing back the parchment. “It still doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

Harry continued to brood long after they had returned home and Severus had retired for the night. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to tamper with a common remedy in a way that inconvenienced rather than killed. He also didn’t want to wait while the St Mungo’s researchers tried to isolate the cause.

He had a few friends and contacts at the Ministry, many of whom owed favours. It was time to call them in.

~*~*~

Percy brushed his palms over his robes, straightening them, picking off a stray piece of lint. Melinda, Scrimgeour’s private secretary, watched him fidget without expression.

“Could you please tell the Minister I’m here?” he asked. “Do you know why he’s summoned me?”

“I’m afraid I’m not privy to that information,” Melinda answered with a falsely bright, business-like smile. “He’s waiting for you, so you can go right in.”

The door closed behind Percy with a muted click as he entered Rufus Scrimgeour’s office. The Minister for Magic wasn’t at his desk; instead, he stood facing the windows, which today looked out upon a grey, rainy, windswept moor. It was no secret that the vistas outside the Minister’s windows reflected Scrimgeour’s predominant mood from day to day, so the desolate scenery didn’t bode well for the meeting.

“Have you read the _Daily Prophet_ yet this morning?” Scrimgeour asked, still facing the windows, hands behind his back.

Percy’s gaze flicked from the Minister’s back to his desk. Today’s copy of the newspaper lay spread out across the polished surface, complete with a photograph of what appeared to be the unusually crowded reception area at St Mungo’s and the headline _WHO’S RESPONSIBLE?_ splashed across the top page.

“I haven’t had time yet today,” Percy admitted. So many late nights had finally led him to oversleep this morning; he’d barely made it to work on time, not that he would ever tell that to Scrimgeour. Appearances had to be kept.

“One should always strive to stay abreast of current events.” Scrimgeour turned away from the windows to face Percy. “If there is a potential problem, it should be fixed before it becomes one. If a problem already exists, it should be fixed as soon as possible. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr Weasley?”

“Absolutely, sir.” Percy had no idea where the Minister was going with this line of conversation, nor was he any closer to understanding why he was standing here now instead of working.

Scrimgeour smiled thinly. “I’m pleased we agree on that much, at least,” he said, stepping toward his desk. Lifting up the newspaper, he pulled out a couple of sheets of parchment, and Percy’s brow furrowed. The parchment looked exactly like one of the documents he’d been slaving over the past several days.

“Sir?”

The Minister handed the sheets to him. “This was found in your desk drawer this morning before you arrived,” he said. His eyes, Percy saw, had turned flinty. “Does it look familiar to you?”

Taking the documents, Percy scanned them briefly and felt himself go cold all over. “You couldn’t have found this in my desk,” he protested. “I remember putting this with the rest of the trade documents. I remember setting this on Melinda’s desk! I’m sure of it!” 

Scrimgeour’s expression became even stonier. “I assure you, I never received it. If I had, the situation we currently find ourselves in wouldn’t exist. I’m deeply disappointed in you, Mr Weasley. You showed such promise. I cannot imagine what you thought you would gain from such an act of sabotage.”

The chill along Percy’s spine deepened as realisation struck. “Sir, you can’t…I didn’t…There must be some mistake!”

“You have thirty minutes to clear out your desk,” Scrimgeour said, his tone implacable, “after which you will be escorted from the Ministry.”

Percy felt as though he’d just been sucker-punched; it was suddenly difficult to breathe. His ambitions, his dreams, everything he’d worked so many years for was crashing down around his ears. “Sir, I promise you I’m not the one responsible…”

The Minister turned away, gazing once more out the windows at the magically created bleak landscape. “That will be all, Mr Weasley. Just be glad I decided not to have you charged with criminal negligence, though that could change as more information becomes available. I wouldn’t make any plans to leave the country, if I were you.”

~*~*~

Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron, spotting the tell-tale shock of red hair after a few moments of searching. He stared at the bowed head, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself before approaching. Percy, Harry thought, looked as though he hadn’t slept or changed into fresh clothing since losing his position at the Ministry, his usually neatly combed hair standing out in all directions, his usually neatly pressed robes rumpled and stained. 

“Is it true?” he asked, sitting down uninvited. “Is it true that you knew about the rubbish potion and tried to hide it from Scrimgeour? Is it true they found the incriminating document in your desk?”

“Why are you asking? You seem willing to believe the worst.” Percy ran his fingers through his hair before looking up at Tom, hovering nearby in the probable hope of overhearing a choice morsel to share with other customers. “Bring me a bottle of Ogden’s and a glass. Make it a large bottle.” 

Harry pressed his lips together at this evidence of self-pity. “I wanted to hear it directly from you. Severus was one of those affected.”

“My condolences,” Percy said, not sounding particularly sorry. “I hate disappointing you, Saviour of the Wizarding World and all, but I didn’t do it. I would think you of all people would know that you can’t believe everything you read in the newspaper.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here.” Harry fell silent as Tom returned with a bottle of Firewhisky and a glass, waiting until the bartender had moved reluctantly out of earshot. Folding his arms on the table, he leaned forward, pitching his voice low. “I want to hear what happened from you.”

“I saw the document. I recommended that it be approved.” Percy opened the bottle, pouring a generous measure of Firewhiskey into his glass. “I sent it along with everything else I’d read that day. I certainly didn’t put it back in my desk, much less try to hide it. We’re friendly with the Belgians, and there was no reason to suspect there was anything wrong with the imports. Seriously, if I’d wanted to make half of Britain lose their voice, I would have doctored the chocolates, not the medicine. It’s the holidays; everyone buys chocolate.”

Harry studied Percy, chewing his lower lip in thought. “Why would you want half of Britain to lose their voice, anyway? If you were to do such a thing, hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Who knows?” Percy shrugged and sipped carefully from his glass, making a face after the first swallow. “You want to know something, Harry? I think if another assistant had read that document rather than me, it would have been them on the chopping block instead. There are – were – three assistants.”

“And Scrimgeour needed someone to throw to the wolves,” Harry said, nodding. He remembered poor Stan Shunpike, tossed into Azkaban, falsely accused of being a Death Eater. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that, to make himself look good.”

Percy didn’t immediately rise to the Minister’s defence, which spoke volumes. “I wish I knew who would do such a thing,” he said mournfully, eyeing his glass before taking another small sip. “I wish I knew what they were trying to achieve.”

“So do I.” Percy was far and away Harry’s least favourite Weasley, but the man looked absolutely miserable. “I’m sure once we find out how they tampered with that batch of Soothing Syrup, the Aurors will try to find out who did it.”

“They’re already trying to find out who did it. You’re looking at their top suspect,” Percy said gloomily. “They questioned me earlier today. Once they’ve picked through everything I had to say they’ll probably come back for more until they decide I’m guilty and take me to Azkaban.” He looked at Harry, his eyes tired and bewildered. “I didn’t do it, Harry. I’d never shame Mum and Dad in such a manner. If you’ve never believed anything else about me, believe that.”

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do.” Harry didn’t know if there was anything he _could_ do, but for some reason he didn’t fully understand, he believed Percy was innocent. “Look, I’ve got to meet a friend in a few minutes. We’ll talk later, all right?”

Percy’s lip curled; and Harry nearly withdrew his offer. Thoughts of Percy’s other family members and how the unfolding scandal must be affecting them prevented it. Ron and Ginny were going to be furious enough!

~*~*~

 

Percy stared moodily into his glass of Ogden’s after Harry left the Leaky Cauldron. Two days had passed since he’d been sacked, and his disgrace had made the _Daily Prophet_ , along with a story detailing the recall of every bottle of Bonheur’s Soothing Syrup in Wizarding Europe and the company’s vehement denials of wrongdoing. He didn’t think Harry had believed his tale, as the other man was still angry and upset over the loss of Snape’s voice. He supposed he’d feel the same had their situations been reversed, but right now he felt more wounded and misunderstood than sympathetic.

He tossed back his drink, grimacing at the scorching heat, and poured another. His dreams were ashes, he thought with more than a little self-pity, it only made sense that his gullet join in the conflagration.

The level of whisky in the bottle decreased as the hours wore on, until Percy was weaving in his chair, his head felt like it weighed a ton and he couldn’t quite feel whether or not his feet were still attached to the rest of him. He didn’t bother to look up from refilling his glass as someone else slid into the empty chair across the table.

“Is it true?” a voice asked. 

The person didn’t sound malicious or mean-spirited. Percy decided to make the effort to lift his head, blinking as Neville Longbottom’s round face came into focus. “ ‘S what true?”

“That you didn’t intentionally try to hide that document. That’s what Harry said you said.”

Percy scrubbed at his face, trying to piece everything together. “Wh-why’d Harry talk t’ you? Has he gone about telling ev’ryone I’m a lying little shit? Wait a minute…” Knocking back the last swallow of Firewhisky in his glass, he asked, “When did Harry talk t’ you?”

It was Neville’s turn to blink, something that Percy found inordinately amusing for some reason. “He came to me after he spoke with you. He’s asked my help in identifying whatever it is that’s making everyone lose their voice,” he said. “It’s either an imbalance in the brew itself, or something’s been added that the St Mungo’s people don’t know about. Nobody seems to know what’s causing it, and Harry thinks I can help.”

“An’ this has t’ do with me, how?” Percy sloshed more Firewhisky into his glass and gulped it down. It no longer seemed to burn as much going down his throat.

Neville smiled, that same smile Percy thought was so nice. “If you truly didn’t do it, then I can help prove your innocence.”

Percy nodded, making the room spin, which made his stomach lurch, which made… “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he said, and promptly did just that.

Things became hazy once the Firewhisky came back up, as scalding as it had been going down. Percy remembered leaning on someone’s shoulder, remembered trying to sick up again, surrounded by green flame and more spinning, remembered collapsing onto something soft yet firm and his shoes being pulled off his feet. After that, he remembered nothing as his eyes slid closed and he gave himself over to blackness.

It was still dark when he awoke an unknown time later, feeling as if miners were digging for gold and gems inside his head with sharp little pickaxes. The taste in his mouth was reminiscent of brimstone and ashes, and he had a pressing need to relieve himself. Groaning, he covered his face with both hands and forced himself to sit up.

He wasn’t in his own bed. He wasn’t even in his own flat. He had no idea where he was.

Throwing back the blanket covering him, Percy stumbled from the bed, grateful that whoever had brought him here at least had the decency to leave him fully dressed. Percy would thank his benefactor later; he was afraid his bladder might explode if he didn’t find the nearest loo within the next two minutes. 

He found one just in time.

Once his most immediate need had been met, Percy started back toward the bedroom. The sound of soft snoring behind a slightly ajar door made him pause. He turned around, part of him arguing against invading another person’s privacy, but at the same time he wanted to know his good Samaritan’s identity. His hand stretched out toward the door as though it had a mind of its own and pushed it open.

He had time enough for his gaze to register soft, sleep-tousled dark hair before the other man rolled over, wand in hand, and shouted, “ _Petrificus totalus!_ ” Percy fell back, feeling his limbs stiffen as he struck the opposite wall and stayed there, leaning at an angle that for some reason made him think of his Mum’s ironing board.

He also recognised the benefactor who had just immobilised Percy, presumably in self-defence. If he’d had the capability, Percy would have laughed at the absurdity of it all. He’d just been caught flat-footed by none other than Neville Longbottom, who was quite possibly the most mild-mannered person in the Ministry.

“Percy!” Neville gasped, lowering his wand. “You startled me. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting…I mean, I thought you’d be out of it all night and…Here, let me get this reversed.” 

He pushed the covers back, giving Percy an excellent view of broad shoulders and chest, a small potbelly, and a line of dark hair disappearing beneath Neville’s pyjama bottoms, which was the only thing he wore. If he hadn’t been frozen, Percy’s cock would have twitched. Neville looked absolutely delectable.

Neville waved his wand, murmuring the incantation reversing the spell, and Percy slumped onto the floor, cradling his throbbing head in his hands. “D’you always sleep with your wand under your pillow?” he asked without looking up.

“I got into the habit during the war. It seemed like a good habit to keep.” Neville still sounded embarrassed and apologetic as he helped Percy onto his feet. “You must have one hell of a hangover. Shall I fix tea? Perhaps with a nip of brandy? Hair of the dog that bit you and all that rot?”

“T-tea?” Percy couldn’t seem to stop staring at Neville’s chest, despite the fact that he stood at least a head taller. Remembering his manners in time, he answered, “Tea would be lovely, thank you. Brandy and all. I didn’t displace anyone from the other bedroom, did I?”

Neville had disappeared into his bedroom while Percy spoke. He came back a moment later, tying the sash of his dressing gown around his waist. “You didn’t kick anyone out of their bed. It’s a guest room. You wouldn’t be the first Weasley to have crashed here of a night,” he added. “Ron’s been here more than once after arguing with Hermione.”

Percy followed his host downstairs into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast table, watching while Neville put on the kettle and pulled a canister from one of the cupboards. The kitchen was impeccably neat, which pleased Percy. He’d never been able to tolerate squalor or mess, and it was nice to learn that Neville apparently felt the same.

Bits and pieces of the evening returned, and Percy swallowed, studying the tabletop. “I suppose I should thank you for taking me under your wing. I doubt I could have Flooed home, much less Apparated. I hope I’m not a bother.”

“It’s no bother. You’d had a shock.” Neville arranged two cups on a tray. “If it had been me I probably would have tried to drink myself under the table, too. Do you take anything with your tea? Besides brandy, that is?”

“Just milk, ordinarily.” The very thought made Percy’s stomach turn over. “Not tonight, though.”

“No, I suppose not.” Neville poured out the tea, adding a generous splash of brandy to one of the cups. He set a small bottle onto the tray and brought it over to the breakfast table. “That’s a headache potion. I figured you could use it.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.” Percy wondered how many times he would have to thank Neville before the night was over as he swallowed the potion. He’d awakened in a warm bed, he had a steaming cup of tea before him, and the headache potion was so far proving to be wonderfully efficacious. Neville spoke politely and treated him with a modicum of dignity despite Percy’s bender. “Ron never spoke much about his school friends, other than Harry. I rather wish now he had if they were like you.”

“Ron and I didn’t really get to know each other until the last war,” Neville replied, sipping from his own teacup. “It was always Harry and Hermione before then. They needed someone they could trust inside Hogwarts to pass information back and forth while they were looking for those Horcrux things and chose me.”

“His loss.” 

Neville’s cheeks turned pink. “Not really. I wasn’t exactly trying to attract attention while we were students. It was usually negative most of the time.” Clearing his throat, Neville continued, “That’s not why I brought you home with me, though. I’d mentioned proving your innocence before you passed out. You _are_ innocent, I presume?”

“Of course I’m innocent! I spent years getting to where I was,” Percy said, a bit more forcefully than intended. Wrapping his hands around his teacup, Percy closed his eyes while struggling to contain his emotions. Showing too much emotion was never wise, he’d learned. “I mean, why would I jeopardise my career by doing something so foolish and pointless?”

“That’s what I thought.” Neville nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Why are you willing to help me? Believe in me, when Harry’s practically convinced I’m guilty?”

Neville smiled, one that brightened his entire face. “Because given the choice between helping someone I liked and helping someone I didn’t, I’d rather help one I liked.” His smile widened, becoming nearly beatific. “Though I must admit I’m enjoying the prospect of having Snape indebted to me. More tea?”

Percy laughed, seeing Neville’s obvious glee, and pushed his cup forward. The laughter felt good, especially since he’d thought it would be longer before he found reason to. “I’d love more tea.”

~*~*~

_Absolutely not!_ Snape wrote that night after they had climbed into bed, one hand holding the parchment across his knees, the other gripping the quill so tightly Harry thought it might snap between his fingers. _The man is an imbecile, a menace, an incompetent fool! What madness made you think he could help, or even that he would?_

“Neville’s more talented than you give him credit for,” Harry replied, stretching lazily alongside Severus and propping himself on one elbow. “He wouldn’t be an Unspeakable if he was as incompetent as you say. He just—responds better to some teaching methods than others. He’s not doing this just because I spoke on your behalf, anyway. You’re not the only one who’s lost their voice because of that potion. He’ll be helping them, too.”

Snape’s expression was disdainful. _You can’t possibly trust Longbottom with my voice_ , he scribbled. _He’d rather see me poisoned._

“There was a time when I wouldn’t have minded seeing you poisoned too,” Harry reminded him. “Things do change, you know.”

Severus scowled, then wrote, _I’m afraid to ask what price he asked in exchange for his assistance._

Harry read the words and chuckled. “He didn’t ask for anything. All I had to do was tell him that you would be eternally in his debt and he agreed. I think he wants to see you grovel a bit. Knowing Neville, he’s probably dreamed about this moment since his first year at Hogwarts.”

Giving him a long, inscrutable look, Severus picked up his quill. _It’s so very like you to do things without asking anyone else’s thoughts or opinions. I ought to take you over my knee this instant, you impudent child._

“Oooh, is that a promise or a threat?” Harry wriggled against him, grinning unrepentantly. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, because you wouldn’t recognise me, otherwise.”

_Impudent_ , Severus repeated, mouth shaping the word with deliberate precision. Severus never made idle threats, and the dark promise glittering in his black eyes never failed to send a curl of arousal through Harry’s belly. Keeping his gaze fixed on Snape’s, Harry threaded his fingers through lank black hair and drew him down until their lips brushed together, softly at first, then with increasing urgency.

Harry’s mouth parted with a soft moan, drawing Snape’s tongue inside, stroking it with his own. Snape’s hands descended on his shoulders, sliding down Harry’s arms to his elbows before grazing his ribs. Pressing his palms flat, Harry pushed Severus down gently into the mattress, releasing his mouth in favour of placing kisses along the sharp line of Snape’s jaw and along his throat. He heard Severus breathe out in a long sigh of pleasure…the only sound he was capable of making. 

Kissing a slow, wet path down Snape’s chest, Harry licked at a flat nipple until it contracted before closing his lips over the nub, flicking it with his tongue. He gave the other nipple equal time and attention until Snape’s hand on his head urged him along. Harry was happy to comply, dipping his tongue into Snape’s navel before travelling down even further, listening to Severus breathe and smiling whenever he heard it hitch.

He rubbed his nose against crisp pubic hair, breathing in the musky scent as he settled between Snape’s thighs. Curling a hand around the base of Severus’ cock, Harry stroked along the thick length of him until the tip glistened with precome. Peering up at Severus through lowered lashes, Harry bent his head, swirling his tongue over the glans, then slowly took him into his mouth, inch by slow inch. He sucked hard as he took Severus in further, his own cock twitching at the sound of Snape’s gasping, stuttering breaths. 

Harry swallowed his length as much as he could, then slid back up until just the tip remained before sliding down again, sucking hard. He moaned when Severus wound his fingers through Harry’s hair in a tight grip, guiding him up and down his shaft. Harry pressed his tongue to the sensitive underside as he bobbed his head, following Snape’s wordless direction. The hand not wrapped around Snape’s cock kneaded the heavy weight of his scrotum, rolling it around his palm.

He listened to the subtle changes in Snape’s breathing, licking and suckling his cock, hollowing his cheeks and drawing hard when he heard the rapid panting gasps signalling imminent climax. Relaxing his throat, Harry devoured Severus all the way to the root, hands tightening over Snape’s narrow hipbones as he thrust wildly into Harry’s mouth and came, flooding his tongue and throat with thick, bitter fluid. Harry’s throat worked frantically, swallowing every drop before licking him clean.

Sliding up Snape’s chest, Harry captured his mouth in a long, lush kiss and whispered, “I know I’m not entirely to blame, but I’m so sorry, Severus, so sorry. I miss your voice, I miss listening to you, I even miss the tone you use when I’ve upset you for some reason, so if you were serious about doing something about my impudence…”

Severus crushed his mouth to Harry’s, effectively muffling any further attempts at apology. His fingers skimmed Harry’s spine, moving lower and lower until he cupped a hand around the curve of one arse cheek, giving it a squeeze. Pulling back, he traced the outline of Harry’s lips with the tip of his tongue before looking deep into his eyes, giving him another squeeze and a light slap.

It was the closest Severus could come to asking permission without breaking the mood by summoning parchment and quill. Harry took a deep breath and nodded, pressing a kiss to Snape’s forehead.

“I’ll make enough noise for both of us,” he whispered.

Giving Severus another kiss, Harry rolled off of Snape and onto his stomach, hands gripping the edge of the mattress. He felt Severus urge him onto his knees, spreading his legs further apart. Harry closed his eyes as cool fingers bound his wrists to the headboard using the sash from Snape’s dressing gown before running along his shoulders and down his spine to smooth across Harry’s buttocks. He felt the mattress dip as Severus knelt beside him, one arm going around his hips to steady him, and a moment later he felt the first hard smack of Snape’s hand against his arse.

The smack was followed by another, and then a third. Harry buried his face into his pillow, whimpering and moaning at the stinging burn, unable to move away or escape the flurry of blows as they descended in rapid succession, each one harder than the last.

Severus was ruthlessly thorough as he administered the spanking, covering both cheeks as well as the backs of Harry’s thighs and the tender crease separating the two. Harry writhed beneath each loud, crisp crack of Snape’s hand, crying out enough for them both as promised, feeling the heat spread through and sink deeper into him.

He cried out for another reason entirely as Snape released his hips to encircle his cock in a long-fingered hand, stroking it roughly in counterpoint to the continuing blows raining down against his backside. Harry wailed, torn between the intermingling of pleasure and pain, hips rocking frantically back and forth. He was dimly aware that Severus had timed it perfectly so that Harry thrust forward into the hand encircling his cock and back in time to receive the next blow from the other hand, the twin sensations building inside of him, twisting and coiling deep within his belly, tightening further and further until Harry’s balls contracted and he came with a shouted sob, his seed spurting over Snape’s hand.

Harry slumped forward, his breathing ragged. It took a moment to realise that the spanking had stopped as soon as Harry had come. He felt Severus untie his wrists and instinctively rolled over, curling up against Snape’s chest. Warm, gentle hands slid around him, rubbing Harry’s back in soothing circles, lulling him to a peaceful sleep.

~*~*~ 

Percy had talked all night, telling his side of the story, going through a second pot of tea and a plate of scones as the hours passed. Percy had told Neville everything he knew, which wasn’t much. Neville, he discovered, was a very good listener, nodding sympathetically in all the right places, never interrupting Percy’s narrative unless it was to ask a question for clarification. Percy was grateful for the attention. It was a pleasant change from the snap judgments he’d seen first in Scrimgeour and then from Harry.

“I still don’t understand why anyone would do something like this in the first place,” Neville mused. “Bonheur’s has - _had_ \- an excellent reputation. My Gran used to dose me with their Soothing Syrup whenever I had a sore throat. I remember the taste always reminded me of cucumber sandwiches. Hell, I have a bottle in my medicine chest right now, and I’m fine.”

“My mum did too,” Percy said. “I never liked cucumber sandwiches, though, so I usually lied about having a sore throat to avoid it. I suppose you’ll be testing your bottle against a tainted one? Did Harry give you the one he bought?”

Neville nodded. “He brought it with him when he met with me earlier today. Yesterday now, I suppose. I marked it so I wouldn’t accidentally confuse it with mine.”

Percy had another question, but wasn’t certain how to phrase it without unintentionally insulting Neville. Despite his embarrassing behaviour at the pub and his lingering hangover from all the alcohol he’d consumed, he’d enjoyed the tea and sympathy, as well as the opportunity to watch and listen to Neville for more than a few spare minutes on occasion. He only wished it could have happened earlier, under more pleasant circumstances. 

Picking a currant out of the scone on his plate, he said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way; but why is Harry asking you to do this when there are already people doing the exact same thing at St Mungo’s? I’d always believed Unspeakables researched things a good deal more mysterious than potions ingredients.” 

“Pffft.” Neville waved his hand disparagingly. “I have no doubt that the St Mungo’s researchers will find out what’s wrong with the potion eventually. He only asked me to help because I have access to equipment and facilities the others don’t, because he remembered I got good marks in Herbology when we were in school, and because we managed to remain friends even though the relationship itself didn’t work. That, and he thought I could find an answer quicker on my own time. Harry’s never been the patient sort.”

“No, he isn’t. Patience isn’t a trait one often finds in Gryffindors.” Percy picked out another currant and lifted it to his mouth, hand pausing in midair as the rest of Neville’s explanation sank in. “You…and Harry?”

“We saw each other for awhile after the war, yes. It turned out we had a little _too_ much in common.” The words were spoken lightly, but there was a bitter undercurrent suggesting the break-up hadn’t been Neville’s idea. Raising his chin defensively, he asked, “Does the fact that I prefer blokes bother you?”

“N-no, not at all.” Percy flushed, hoping Neville hadn’t noticed that it had been a few seconds before he remembered how to breathe. His heart was pounding hard enough in his chest as it was. He popped the currant into his mouth and summoned every last bit of courage. “You said earlier that…that given the choice you’d rather help someone you liked over someone you didn’t. You scarcely know me enough to like me, much less help me.”

Neville sighed, pushing his chair back. “Anyone’s an improvement over Snape. It’s nearly three in the morning, and I have to go to work in a couple of hours. You can spend the rest of the night here, if you want. Don’t worry, I won’t try to molest you in your sleep. You’ll be quite safe.”

“What if I want you to?” The words popped out before Percy could stop them. Neville froze, half in and half out of his chair before slowly sinking back into his seat.

“What?”

Nervousness settled in Percy’s belly, making it flutter uneasily. He hid it as he always had, behind starchy formality. “Forgive me if I misunderstood,” he said, folding his hands on the table so Neville wouldn’t see them shake. “You said you liked me, even though we’re barely acquainted. I assumed, perhaps mistakenly, that you referred to some sort of attraction. However, if such an attraction exists, then you should know that…that it’s reciprocated. If not, I…you can show me to your fireplace, I’ll Floo home, we’ll never talk about this again; and I’ll understand if you change your mind in regard to clearing my name in addition to helping all of those poor souls who have been affected by the tainted batch of Soothing Syrup.”

Neville rose again from his chair, gathering empty plates and teacups, setting them back on the tray before carrying them to the sink, all without saying a word. Pulling out his wand, he used a Cleaning charm on the dishes and put them away while Percy watched and wondered what Neville was thinking.

Once the kitchen had been put to rights, Neville stood in front of Percy, arms crossed over his chest. “I didn’t think you even knew who I was until yesterday at the pub,” he said. “How long?”

“A few months, maybe. Does it matter?”

Neville smiled wistfully and pulled Percy onto his feet, looking up at him. “It matters, if only because once this is over I may end up indebted to Snape after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It means that this attraction you mentioned,” Neville said softly, reaching up to cup Percy’s face in his hands, “exists.” 

Neville’s lips were soft and warm beneath Percy’s; and he tasted of tea and currants. His fingers were gentle, stroking lightly over Percy’s cheeks and jaw as he deepened the kiss, his tongue like soft wet velvet as he explored Percy’s mouth with a sweet, thorough languor.

“I thought you had to go to work in a couple of hours,” Percy breathed against those lips, drawing back with utmost reluctance, resisting the urge to slip his hands under Neville’s dressing gown and touch warm skin. “I’ve kept you up entirely too late already.”

“Then a few minutes more won’t make any difference,” Neville answered, his hands now rubbing up and down Percy’s arms before coming to rest against his waist. “I’ll just have a nap during my lunch hour. Don’t worry about me. I couldn’t sleep now if I tried, and I don’t think you could either.”

Percy didn’t protest as Neville began kissing him again, moaning as he gave in to temptation and fumbled with the sash on Neville’s dressing gown, undoing the knot and pushing the material back, hands grazing hungrily across his chest before sliding around and beneath the dressing gown to caress his back. Neville’s skin was as warm as Percy had hoped, the feel of him as solid beneath his roaming fingertips as he’d dreamed.

He bit back a startled gasp as Neville’s fingers brushed over Percy’s trousers, curling around his erection and stroking. A moment later Neville pressed against him, letting Percy feel a similar hardness pushing against his hip. Breaking the kiss, Neville touched his tongue to Percy’s ear and whispered, “Touch me, I want you to touch me, I want to feel your hand around me…”

A few quick tugs had Neville’s pyjama bottoms around his ankles, Percy’s shirt open to the waist, and his trousers unfastened. Neville moaned softly against his neck as Percy ran his fingers along the underside of Neville’s cock before curling his fingers around it. Percy let out a similar moan moments later as Neville mirrored his actions, his hand closing around Percy and stroking once, twice and again before snaking an arm around his waist and pulling him flush against Neville’s chest. He shifted slightly, moving until their cocks were aligned, and guided Percy’s hand so that it wrapped around them both before covering Percy’s fingers with his.

The friction created by their cocks rubbing against each other, along with the friction of their joined hands sliding up and down was nothing short of divine. Neville’s breath washed over Percy’s neck in hot, short puffs, becoming more and more rapid as their hands stroked and squeezed with greater urgency, moving faster and faster until Neville stiffened and came with a groan, coating their fingers with slick wetness, body jerking against him. Neville bit down on Percy’s shoulder, muffling his gasps and sending Percy over the edge as well with a hoarse shout as he spilled.

Percy kept his other arm around Neville, holding him tightly as he fought to bring his breathing under control. He was surprised when Neville began chuckling, the sound vibrating through him.

“I don’t usually go this far on first dates, much less the same night I’ve met someone,” Neville said, looking up at Percy with a small, abashed smile. “I’m not usually this forward.”

“Neither am I,” Percy admitted. He smoothed back Neville’s hair with trembling fingers, revelling in its softness. “I don’t regret it, though. Do you think you can sleep now?”

“Like a baby.” Neville cast another Cleaning charm and began pulling his clothing back into place. He looked up shyly from retying the sash. “I might sleep better though, if you came with me.”

Neither of them slept much at all, as it turned out.

~*~*~

Harry, accompanied by Severus, slid into the booth across from Neville, his expression bemused. “Florean Fortescue’s, in December?” he asked. “You’re mad.”

“There’s less chance of being overheard,” Neville replied, dipping a spoon into his dish of chocolate raspberry swirl ice cream. “What I have to say can’t go past us.”

Harry sobered immediately, green eyes blazing with barely contained excitement. “You’ve found something. I knew you could do it faster than those idiots at St Mungo’s! I’ve been owling them daily for the past week, and I keep getting the same reply.” His voice shifted to one of mock officiousness. “ ‘ _We are doing everything we can in this endeavour, and we appreciate your patience in this matter._ ’ They can all go bugger themselves. What’d you find out?”

“I’ll tell you, just as soon as Percy arrives.” Neville spooned up another bite of ice cream. “We’re early, so it’ll be a few minutes.”

Severus glared at Harry and retrieved a roll of parchment and quill from one of his robe pockets. _The day my voice is returned to me, you and I are going to have a very long discussion regarding your regrettable habit of telling half-truths._

“It was the only way I could convince you to come along,” Harry replied carelessly, ignoring Snape’s glare. “If it’s any consolation, Neville here didn’t know you’d be present, else he probably would have cancelled our meeting.”

“You got that right,” Neville muttered under his breath, which seemed to cheer Severus up considerably.

Percy entered the ice cream parlour precisely at two, stopping short when he caught sight of Harry and Snape sitting in the same booth with Neville. “Professor, what an unexpected surprise,” he said, taking a seat beside Neville and removing his gloves. Dropping a hand beneath the table, he slid his fingers through Neville’s, giving it a small squeeze of encouragement. “May I say how very sorry I am about your recent misfortune?”

A muscle twitched in Snape’s cheek, but he managed a civil enough nod. Harry decided it was close enough to a truce as they’d get and started the meeting.

“We’re all here, Nev. What do you have for us?” he asked, getting straight to the matter at hand.

Neville darted a quick glance at Severus, licking his lips nervously. He had Percy’s hand in a death grip, holding it tightly enough that Percy thought he could feel his circulation being slowly cut off.

“I…” he began, his voice a high squeak. Clearing his throat, he focused on Harry, still clinging to Percy’s hand beneath the table. “I took a sample from the bottle you gave me,” he said, the words becoming stronger, more assured as he continued, “and compared it to samples taken from the bottle in my medicine chest at home, and to a second bottle that had arrived in a previous shipment but hadn’t yet been sold. I also managed to procure a copy of the recipe for Bonheur’s Soothing Syrup, which wasn’t easy, since it’s a generations-old family recipe and understandably top secret since it’s the source of their financial fortune. I’m probably the only person outside the Bonheur family who knows how to make it now.” There was an odd sort of explosive exhale from Severus that might have been a snort of disbelief.

Neville ignored it, keeping his eyes fixed on Harry and his hand fixed within Percy’s grip. “Anyway, all of the usual ingredients were present in all three samples, in the proper amount, added at the proper time during the brewing process. However, there was an additional ingredient in the sample I got from you, Harry. It took awhile to isolate it because it’s so similar to one of the regular ingredients, longer still to identify it because the variant is quite rare, but I did find it, eventually.”

“And?” Harry and Percy asked in unison.

“ _Borago assyrinensis_ ,” Neville announced, clearly in his element. “It’s a magical variant of the common Muggle herb _Borago officinalis_ , which is one of the main ingredients in Bonheur’s formula in addition to being the source behind its cucumber-like flavour.” 

“Could you repeat that in English?” Harry asked, confused; but beside him Snape’s eyes had widened for the briefest of moments, and he was currently scribbling rapidly on a torn sheet of parchment.

“Borage,” Neville clarified. “Common borage. It’s used medicinally for sore throats, but the flowers can be used in salads, or candied. My Gran used to freeze them in ice cubes and served them in drinks whenever she held a garden party. The variant is Assyrian borage, named for the country of origin. It’s also called frost borage because the flowers are an icier shade of blue compared to its Muggle cousin…”

Severus finished writing, shoving the parchment toward Harry. He read it and looked up at Neville. “Severus says it was used by Grindelwald’s followers because it was so effective,” he said slowly. “It was outlawed in Europe after his downfall. How did the person responsible get hold of an illegal plant?”

“Grandfather clause,” Neville explained. “If it was already growing in someone’s garden, provided they weren’t known sympathisers to Grindelwald’s cause, then it was allowed to stay. You just couldn’t sell it, and you couldn’t import it. Most people got rid of theirs to avoid the trouble. Not all, obviously.”

Percy shook his head, still trying to understand how this related to him. “What made it so effective? Professor Snape said that Grindelwald’s followers found it effective.”

Severus pointed at his throat, snatching back the parchment from Harry. _More effective than Silencing spells when torturing Muggles_ , he wrote. _Silencing spells wear off eventually. I haven’t been able to make a sound since the beginning of the month._ Harry passed the parchment around so everyone could read.

“Right,” Neville said, his voice shaking slightly. “Muggle borage has a natural cooling effect; if you place a leaf on your tongue you can feel it. Assyrian borage goes one step further. When brewed correctly, a potion made from it freezes the vocal cords. You could scream all you wanted and never make a sound until the antidote was given.” He looked at Severus. “Now that you know what it is, I assume you know how to make an antidote?”

Snape sniffed soundlessly, looking down his nose at Neville, who let out another squeak. Percy squeezed his hand again, and Neville looked at him, dark eyes shining in gratitude.

Clearing his throat again, Neville said, “There’s something else you should know, but if anyone finds out I said anything I could lose my job with the Ministry. Not all of the bottles in the shipment were tainted.”

“How did you learn that?” Harry asked, startled.

Neville reddened as three pairs of eyes focused on him and looked down at his ice cream, which now looked more like cold chocolate raspberry swirl soup rather than ice cream. “The Auror division has been working on the case too,” he said. “I’ve been working with Auror Smith on an unrelated poisoning case, and I just _happened_ to ask how the syrup investigation was coming along, and he almost gave me a straight answer. He said Bonheur’s people all passed the Veritaserum test, so they couldn’t have been the ones who tainted part of the shipment. Key phrase being, _part_ of the shipment.”

Severus was writing again. The others waited patiently until he was done and he’d pushed the parchment to Neville. _Tomorrow, I advise that you tell Kingsley Shacklebolt everything you’ve discovered thus far, minus the fact you know only part of the syrup shipment was affected by the sabotage._

“Exactly,” Percy seconded. “If it happened on our end, and if anyone in Customs happens to have a patch of Assyrian borage growing in their back garden and a NEWT-level knowledge of Herbology in their school record, then we’ll have our man.”

Everyone turned to look at Neville, who paled, raising his hands. “I don’t work in Customs, and I don’t have any Assyrian borage!”

“You’re not devious enough, either,” Harry said.

“Thanks…I think.” Neville’s voice turned cool at the backhanded compliment.

“However,” Harry continued thoughtfully, tapping his fingers together, “you know people with gardens. You probably know quite a few people who have rare plants in their gardens, and if you don’t know them, your Gran might.”

“And I could give a list of names to Shacklebolt!” Neville finished. “I could definitely do that much.”

“I have an even better suggestion,” Percy said. “Have them start with my replacement at the Ministry, whoever they are; and then find out if any of that person’s friends has a gardening hobby.”

Harry lifted his arms above his head and stretched. “I think we’ve done all we can do for one day,” he declared, sliding from the booth, “and I still haven’t had any ice cream. Neville, you’ve done great. Keep us updated, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Neville said softly, watching Harry move toward the counter. Percy almost didn’t hear him. More loudly, he added, “I’ve already had mine, so I guess I’ll see all of you later.”

“I’ll come with you,” Percy said, and Neville smiled.

~*~*~

Neville raised a hand and captured the memo that had fluttered around his head for the past five minutes. Unfolding it, he read the brief message inside and sighed. He was supposed to have dinner at Percy’s flat at six. It was half five now, and he still needed to go home long enough to shower and change and hopefully still have enough time to pick up a bottle of wine on the way. Why did Shacklebolt have to speak with him _now_?

Still muttering about bad timing, Neville took the lift to Level Two. He found Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for him when the lift gates opened.

“Longbottom, glad you could stop by so quickly,” Shacklebolt said. “We’ve gone through the information you sent us yesterday and verified that Bonheur’s Soothing Syrup was indeed doctored with Assyrian borage. We also took your suggestions regarding who was on Customs duty the night the shipment arrived and who replaced Percy Weasley in the vacant assistant’s position. Thanks to you, I think we’ve found the person responsible. We’ll be bringing him in for questioning tomorrow. I thought you’d like to know.”

“I--thank you for telling me. I’m glad I could be of use.” Neville couldn’t wait to tell Percy the good news. “Erm, was there anything else you needed from me? I’m running late, you see, and…”

Kingsley clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “Nothing further, Longbottom. Have fun.”

Neville made a quick stop at a nearby wine shop, purchasing a bottle of red and a bottle of white, as he had no idea what Percy had decided on for dinner, and raced home, getting ready for his date in record time. He made sure the wine bottles were secure before tossing in a handful of Floo powder, calling out Percy’s address.

The fireplace spat him out, coughing, in a cloud of soot. Neville stumbled at the unexpected action, nearly tripping over the grate before regaining his balance. He frowned, brushing ineffectually at his stained clothing, giving up after a moment and using a Cleaning charm to remove the worst of the soot. Why had Percy shut off his Floo connection? Neville wondered. It was that, or he’d forgotten to have it turned on. He’d mentioned not having much company.

Still frowning, Neville closed his eyes and concentrated on his destination. He hated Apparating, not liking the squeezing sensation as though he was icing in a pastry tube, plus he’d never quite overcome a fear of Splinching; but he couldn’t think of any other way to make it to Percy’s flat on time.

Neville popped into the alley behind the block of flats with a muffled _crack_ , mercifully without Splinching, and hurried inside. Now that he was almost there, he no longer felt quite so rushed. He checked the wine bottles for possible damage, relieved to find the glass uncracked and the corks firmly in place.

Percy’s flat was located on the third floor. Neville stood in front of the door, smoothing his hair and performing one final Cleaning charm on his clothes to get rid of any lingering soot, and raised his hand to knock.

Something crashed into the door from the opposite side with a loud thump, and Neville jumped. It was followed by the sound of breaking glass, and then another crash.

Neville felt a chill of foreboding. Lowering his hand, he pulled out his wand and reached for the doorknob, unsurprised to find it locked. “ _Alohomora_ ,” he whispered, hoping whoever was inside with Percy hadn’t used a stronger charm.

A splashing sound was followed by a howl of pain and more thumps and crashes. Neville tightened his grip on his wand, took a deep breath, and slowly eased the door open enough to peer into the room. 

Percy lay on the floor, grappling with a second man for possession of a wand lying just beyond their reach. The ground was littered with pieces of furniture and shards of broken crockery, and the walls appeared to have been spattered with some kind of savoury soup, judging by the strong smell of onions assaulting Neville’s nose.

Neville didn’t pause to think about the risk, or why someone would try to attack Percy in the first place. Someone he cared for was in danger, and that was all that mattered. He simply acted.

“ _Stupefy_!”

The Stunner missed, sizzling over the other man’s shoulder and striking the sofa. The man rolled away, snagging the wand and bringing Percy with him as he got to his feet, holding Percy in front of him as a shield, the wand pressed to his throat.

“Drop it, Longbottom,” Kenneth Towler said when Neville hesitated. “You’ll have to go through him if you plan to stop me. Figures he’d be seeing an herbology expert, of all the wretched luck.”

Percy gave the tiniest shake of his head as Neville wavered. “ _Stun_ ,” he mouthed, lips barely moving. “ _Now_.”

“I’m sorry, Percy,” Neville said. “ _Stupefy_!”

This time, he didn’t miss. Percy slumped, catching Towler offguard. A second Stunner caught Towler directly in the chest, and he collapsed also, falling on top of Percy. Neville approached their unconscious bodies, his legs trembling uncontrollably, wand held aloft. Dropping to his knees, he pushed Towler off of Percy, breathing out a relieved sigh when he checked Percy’s breathing and heartbeat and found both normal. Plucking the wand from Towler’s lax fingers, Neville murmured, “ _Incarcerous_ ,” binding him at wrist and ankle. Only then did he go to Percy’s fireplace so he could place a Firecall and let the Aurors know he’d found their man.

~*~*~

The questions had all been asked and answered, the signs of struggle photographed and catalogued for evidence. The Aurors were gone, taking Towler with them. Percy and Neville were finally alone.

“I still can’t believe you tossed the entire pot of onion soup at him,” Neville said, curling up beside Percy on the sofa. “I finished cleaning the stains off the wall, by the way.”

“I had to distract him somehow to keep him from hexing me,” Percy replied. “My wand wasn’t in the kitchen. The soup pot was. And you didn’t have to put the flat to rights.”

“I wanted to.” Neville’s arm curved across Percy’s shoulders, drawing him closer. “It was the least I could do after hitting you with that Stunning spell.”

“Neville, I asked you to hit me! You oughtn’t feel guilty for doing what you were told to do!”

After the Aurors left, Neville had gone through the flat with his wand and a series of Repairing spells, fixing every stick of broken furniture, restoring every knickknack and decoration to wholeness. He’d made a pot of tea and prepared a delicious meal from leftovers in Percy’s icebox, all the while fussing over Percy’s health and general well-being. Percy hadn’t felt so cosseted or cared for since he was a small boy. 

“Yes, but if I hadn’t missed the first time I wouldn’t have had to do it in the first place,” Neville said, sounding miserable. 

“You quite possibly saved my life tonight. Somehow, merely saying thank you seems inadequate.” Percy shifted, turning to cup Neville’s face between his palms. Closing the distance, he brushed his lips over Neville’s with quiet intensity. “I want to show my gratitude another way, if you’ll have me.”

The kiss he received in response warmed Percy’s soul in places he hadn’t known were cold, washing away all the lingering aches and pains from his bout with Towler and leaving a new ache in its place. 

They left a path of discarded clothing behind them as they kissed and touched and fumbled their way to Percy’s bedroom. Percy fell back on the mattress, pulling Neville with him, ripping off his glasses and dropping them over the side of the bed as his mouth crushed against Neville’s, tongue seeking entrance. Percy allowed it, moaning as Neville cupped his balls briefly before stroking him to full hardness.

Neville broke the kiss, mouthing Percy’s throat and chest, fastening on a nipple, licking and biting at the tiny nub. Percy writhed beneath him, groaning appreciation laced with pain as Neville moved to the other nipple, nipping and suckling. 

Leaving off, Neville trailed his wet tongue down the length of Percy’s chest and abdomen to the apex of his thighs, licking at the crease, seemingly ignorant of Percy’s cock bobbing and brushing against his cheek.

“Neville, oh god, please…” Percy found himself babbling, wrapping a hand through dishevelled dark hair, guiding Neville’s head to his cock. Neville’s lips curved in a wicked smile that Percy found astonishingly erotic, seeing it on his round, boyish face, groaning as the tip of his tongue darted out to lick up and down the underside of his cock, alongside the vein. That talented tongue stroked and sucked all over Percy’s shaft and scrotum, the sensations overwhelming, making his hips buck beneath the sensual assault.

He whimpered when Neville drew back, but the interruption was brief as Neville leaned over Percy’s body to grab the lube sitting atop the bedside table and open it. Percy’s head fell back against the pillow as Neville’s lips slid down the length of his shaft once more, taking as much as he comfortably could into his mouth.

His cock twitched inside Neville’s mouth as he felt a slick finger rub against his tight hole, probing gently. Gasping for breath, Percy spread his legs wide, lifting them slightly to give Neville better access.

“Do it,” he begged. “I want your fingers in me, I want to feel them stretching me…”

Neville moaned around Percy’s cock, the unexpected vibration nearly making him come then and there. He released him with a wet pop, sliding his finger into Percy while nipping at the soft skin of his belly. Percy’s eyes rolled back in his head as another finger joined the first, twisting and criss-crossing inside of him before crooking upward and rubbing against his sweet spot, wrenching an incoherent cry from his throat.

Neville withdrew his fingers before Percy could come, wiping them clean on the sheets. Lifting his head, he ran his tongue across one of the love bites marking Percy’s stomach and reached for another pillow, positioning it beneath Percy’s hips. He caught Neville’s eyes with his own, letting him see the need singing through him.

A few moments passed while Neville coated his own heavy erection with more lube. Kneeling between Percy’s splayed thighs, he pushed them up and back. Percy kept his gaze fixed on Neville’s, feeling the head of Neville’s cock against his entrance before pushing slowly into him.

Percy whimpered at the stretch and burn as Neville entered him, making him feel incredibly full. Neville’s face tightened as Percy clenched around him, breath hitching.

“You feel amazing,” he breathed once he was fully seated inside, bracing his hands above Percy’s shoulders and leaning in for a long deep kiss.

“So do you,” Percy whispered back, wrapping his legs around Neville and lifting his hips.

Neville began to move, thrusting slow and deep, but began to increase the intensity as Percy encouraged him with breathless murmurs and moving hips and groans until he was pounding into him, each stroke rubbing over Percy’s prostate until he couldn’t think for the pleasure flooding his body. His hands moved restlessly, roaming over Neville’s shoulders and down his back, fingers clutching at sweat-sheened skin.

“Percy…I…” Neville’s eyes squeezed shut, his hand going between their bodies to wrap around Percy’s throbbing cock, stroking roughly. “Close…”

“Neville,” he whispered hoarsely, “come for me Neville, come for me, let me see you, come for me, come for me.”

Neville let out a strangled cry and stiffened, hips jerking uncontrollably as he spilled deep inside Percy. Percy shattered a moment later, pulling Neville to him as he pulsed and spasmed through his own climax, wrapping his arms around him and not letting go as they shuddered to completion.

He didn’t let go until Neville’s breathing had steadied and his weight grew oppressive rather than comforting. Neville seemed to sense the moment it happened and rolled away from Percy onto his side, spooning against him from behind.

“Okay?” he asked, fingers stroking gently over Percy’s chest where the Stunner had struck him.

“I’m more than okay.” Percy pressed back against Neville, sighing in contentment when Neville’s arms tightened around him. “In fact, I think I can say with utter certainty that I’ve never been better.”

~*~*~

“And I’d always believed only Slytherins were capable of hatching such labyrinthine plots,” Severus said, watching Percy and Neville depart the Leaky Cauldron hand in hand. “The difference being that a Slytherin wouldn’t be caught.”

Harry drank a swallow from his butterbeer. “Towler almost wasn’t. If Percy hadn’t made the suggestion to question his replacement at the Ministry, the Aurors would never have thought to check into his background and find out his grandmother had Assyrian borage growing in her back garden. What I still can’t believe is that he sabotaged the shipment and tried to frame Percy for it just so he could create a vacancy for his girlfriend. Or that he’d go after Percy once he learned the game was up.” He finished the butterbeer and belched quietly behind his hand. “Personally, I would have left the country.”

“Personally, you would never have been so foolish,” Severus replied. “Can we please leave? I will never understand why you and your friends insist on meeting in such a tawdry establishment.”

“All’s well that ends well,” Harry said sunnily, ignoring Snape’s scowl as they Apparated home. “You’ve got your voice back along with everyone else, Percy has his job again, and I’ve never seen Neville happier. Just in time for Christmas, too.”

“Only you would consider a union between a Weasley and a Longbottom a joyful occasion, regardless of season,” Severus muttered, hanging up his cloak. “They do appear happy, granted.” 

Harry started a fire blazing in the grate, holding his hands above the flames to warm them. “I’m happy for them. I’m happier for myself, though.” Turning toward Severus, he leaned up for a kiss. “You have no idea how much I missed listening to you.”

“Almost as much as I missed speaking, I should think,” Severus said dryly, his expression bemused as Harry began unfastening the row of buttons on his black robes.

“Yes, but I think I want to hear more from you,” Harry said, pressing soft kisses against Snape’s narrow chest with every inch of skin exposed. “I want to hear you cry out for me, I want to hear the sounds you make when I have my mouth on you, or when you’re inside of me. I want to hear your voice telling me you love me, every day of my life.”

Stripping the robes from Snape’s shoulders, Harry moved on to the placket of his trousers, unlacing them and pushing them down past his hips. Still kissing, they sank down onto their knees, Severus tugging at Harry’s own clothing until they were both fully nude. Severus pushed Harry onto all fours, moving behind him, long-fingered hands skimming over the knobs of Harry’s spine and making his skin erupt in gooseflesh.

“You wish to listen to me?” Snape said silkily, his tongue retracing the path his fingers had taken. “You wish to hear my enjoyment as I taste you, take you, spill into you? You wish to hear me take my pleasure from you?”

“Yes,” Harry moaned, spreading his knees wider. “I do. Severus, please, I’ve missed it so much…”

“Then hear me you shall,” Severus whispered, licking a long wet stripe along Harry’s cleft. Spreading Harry’s cheeks apart with his hands, he tongued Harry’s tight pink pucker, flicking it lightly with the pointed tip before pushing it inside, delving deeper with each thrust.

Harry pushed back with his hips, chest pressed flat against the oriental carpet, biting his knuckles in a vain attempt to stifle his whimpers and cries. Snape’s muffled moans as he licked and sucked at Harry filled his ears, the sound making him writhe in pleasure almost as much as the sensation of Snape’s lips and tongue against his hole. He heard Severus utter a Summoning charm, felt his tongue replaced by an oil-slickened finger.

“So eager,” Severus murmured, removing the digit, his hands urging Harry’s hips higher. “So impatient.”

He slid into Harry with one thrust, sliding easily past the loosened ring of muscle. Harry whimpered at the sudden invasion, breathing through his nose while his body adjusted to the hot, hard length impaling him. 

Gentle fingers traced circles over the base of his spine, helping Harry relax. “You’re beautiful like this, Harry,” Severus said, his voice like raw silk as he began thrusting, “your body spread out for me, ready and waiting, begging me to take you, possess you, make you forget everyone and everything but this, always this…”

Harry basked in the flow of words as they washed over him, hearing Snape’s voice become rougher, more urgent as he closed in on orgasm. He couldn’t prevent a loud moan of his own as Snape’s hand closed over him, pumping Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts, harder and faster until Snape shuddered and groaned, bending over Harry’s back, his harsh panting breaths hot against Harry’s neck.

“Now you,” Severus said, and Harry wailed as he came, spilling into Snape’s relentlessly stroking hand.

They lay before the fire, Harry’s head lying against Snape’s chest. “That was nice,” he said drowsily. “I promise next time I’ll listen when you say you don’t need a store-bought potion. I don’t want to lose the pleasure of your voice again.”

Severus made a small sound in his throat. “Good, because I have quite a few things to say to you. Whatever possessed you to ask for Longbottom’s assistance?”

Harry laughed, and his voice rang through the house, and all was right with the world.


End file.
